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Chapter Text

Thursday - June 29th, 1995

Harry woke up trembling, feeling cold sweat on his body. Then came his memories of the events that unfolded the day before—or the few days before. Harry wasn’t sure—Voldemort came back, and Cedric was killed. It was all my fault, Harry thought.

Suddenly, he felt sick and vomited on himself.

Madam Pomfrey then walked in with a tray in hand when she heard noises coming from his bed. “Oh! alright, lad, up you get,” she said softly, as to not frighten him, since she saw how distressed he looked. “Scourgify,” she mumbled, pointing her wand at Harry to clean his vomit.

“Here,” she started, then grabbed an item from the tray beside her. “Drink this,” she said as she pulled out a potion. “It’s pepper-up,” she explained when Harry looked at the vial in her hand. She handed him the vial and watched, only satisfied when he finished the potion.

Harry coughed before he started talking, not trusting his voice. “Thank you, Madam,” he said with a raspy voice. “What happened? Why am I here?” he then asked.

“Well, you passed out from exhaustion four days ago at 0:24 am—can’t believe Albus had you up that late—especially after what happened—honestly, sometimes I think that man doesn’t understand other humans—ahem... anywho, you also have a lot of injuries, such as a concussion and a broken arm, and I’m afraid you did suffer a traumatic experience, Mr. Potter.” She sighed.

“o-oh... and— and what is today’s date, and the time?” Harry asked rather stupidly, not taking in all of what she said.

“The 29th, Mr. Potter. And it’s 3:17 am.” Harry nodded and looked down, then noticed his stomach growling. He clutched his stomach and winced.

“Oh! Here, you must be starving.” Madam Pomfrey said as she handed him some biscuits and cast an Aguamenti at a cup for his dry throat. Harry quickly thanked her, then sat up properly on the bed to eat.

Madam Pomfrey excused herself and went outside, possibly to inform Dumbledore of Harry’s awakening. Harry then was done with his biscuits and sat in silence, just contemplating.

Everything in my life goes wrong. I can never have just one second of peace. Why can’t I have peace? Harry's thoughts came quickly.

He really couldn’t just live, could he? All he does is bring out the worst in everything. It was his fault Cedric died that night. If he’d just accepted his victory, Cedric would still be here today. Harry brought his hands up to his scar, to scratch his itch—as it had become a habit of his, as of lately—and to try and massage his headache away, but as soon as he touched his scar, he felt a bandage there. All my fault, all my fault, all my fault. That was all that came into Harry’s head.

Soon, Hermione and Ron burst into the hospital wing. Harry didn’t notice though, he was too deep in thought, too deep in his head. He didn’t even notice he was crying until Hermione and Ron tackled him into a hug.

“Oh Harry!” she cried out and frowned. They then pulled off of him. Hermione saw his wet face and softened her expression. “Aw... Harry...” she said softly as she frowned again, then put her hands on each side of his cheeks and kissed him on his forehead, then wiped the tears off his cheeks.

Ron patted him on the back, concerned for his best friend. “Are you doing alright, mate?” he asked cautiously. Harry shrugged, not even sure himself.

“I... it- it was all my fault,” Harry said quietly between sobs—so quietly said you could miss it—while he put one of his arms up to rub off the snot that was running down his nose, and the other to pick at his skin on his left thigh.

“Sorry?” Hermione softly asked while running her fingers through his hair.

“It’s all my fault Cedric died!” Harry cried out loud. Hermione gasped quietly, then pulled Harry into a tight hug and rubbed circles on his back.

“No, Harry, it wasn’t. You can’t think like that. How would you have known? It’s not your fault, okay?” Hermione said quietly in his ear. Harry nodded, but he knew it wasn't that simple. He knew he’d feel this guilt forever. So then he just sobbed quietly in Hermione’s arms while Ron hugged him tightly once again.

“How are you guys here? It’s midnight. You guys should go—”

“Hush, Harry. We’re here because you need us, and we want to be here,” Ron said sternly. “And we grabbed the cloak from your trunk, by the way,” he added, pulling the cloak up to show Harry.

Harry pulled off of their embrace and sniffed, “Thank you—” he began to say, but then was interrupted by Dumbledore suddenly coming in with a big black dog and Remus Lupin.

“Padfoot! What are you doing here?” he exclaimed while the dog came up to his bed and licked his nose. “Hullo,” he said softly, petting the soft fluffy fur Padfoot now had. Harry then hugged the dog tightly and softly whispered, “I— I missed you.” Padfoot barked and gave him a lick to his ear, making Harry yelp.

Harry looked up from the dog to see his best mates out of the room. “Where—”

“I asked them to leave, Harry,” Dumbledore explained.

“Oh... alright then,” Harry said, bummed out that his friends couldn’t stay longer. “Er— why?” he then asked.

“I needed to talk to you, my boy,” the old man said, eyes twinkling. Harry nodded, though still not understanding why Hermione and Ron had to leave.

“What did you need to talk about?” Harry then asked.

“Well, my boy, I had to see if you were okay,” Dumbledore said with a smile, “and to talk to you about what happened.” He finished.

“What do you mean? Didn’t we already talk about everything before I— before I passed out?” Harry asked hesitantly, already dreading what was about to come. A long hour of retelling his trauma again.

“Well, yes, but we didn’t finish our conversation, did we, my boy?” Dumbledore chuckled.

“I suppose you’re right,” Harry sighed. Suddenly, the dog in his lap transformed back into his godfather.

“Absolutely not, Albus. Harry’s just woken up after what—four days of rest? Which he probably wouldn’t have needed if it weren’t for the fact you kept him up that late to discuss what happened instead of letting him rest,” Sirius quickly butted in. Remus then put a hand on Sirius’s shoulder to calm him.

“I understand, Sirius, I just need—“

“Albus, please, Harry needs rest. Anything you need to discuss with him can wait till next school year. Harry’s well-being is all that matters right now,” Sirius gritted out.

Dumbledore then paused and looked at Harry in his eyes, who looked at Sirius with a frown, and then looked back at Dumbledore’s eyes. Suddenly, Harry felt a sharp pain come through his head. “Yes, right then!” Dumbledore said, then looked over at Harry. “I hope you have a lovely summer, my boy.” He smiled—though it didn’t reach his eyes—and then left the room.

Harry let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, then looked down at his lap and closed his eyes while he put his head back into the bed frame.

Sirius turned to face Harry and frowned. “Hey there, pup. You doing okay?” Harry shrugged, looking down. It was the truth, he didn’t know what he felt at that moment. He kept picking at the skin on his left thigh.

Harry opened his eyes to find Sirius’s concerned look. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He then shrugged and shook his head.

“Okay,” Sirius simply replied, smiling at the fragile boy in front of him. He then looked at Harry’s hands—noticing what they were doing—held them up and looked up at Harry’s eyes. “We'll talk when you’re ready,” he then said, cupping Harry’s face. Harry looked at Sirius’s eyes and saw them watering; he frowned.

“I’m so glad you’re alive, pup,” he said shakily, putting his arms around Harry and holding him tightly.

Harry didn’t know what to say, so he opted for a ‘mhm’ and closed his eyes, basking in the warmth of his godfather. He didn’t know what to do with all of the emotions flowing through him at that moment; he felt like his brain was melting. He didn’t feel deserving of being there, alive. He tried speaking, but nothing came out. He couldn’t bring himself to.

He tried to go back to sleep, but it was pointless. Harry couldn’t take the image of Cedric’s body hitting the floor after the unforgivable hit him. So instead, he picked at his thigh again and counted from one to ten loads of times.

—..—

Eventually, he felt himself relax enough to open his eyes.

“Harry,” Remus said. Harry looked at him, his face engulfed in the sunrise—it was now morning; Harry hadn’t realized how long he was doing that for—Harry then looked down to see Sirius, in his animagus form, on the bed with his head on Harry’s lap.

“Hm?” Harry replied.

“Me and Sirius will be going back home later today—when Sirius wakes up—okay? We’ll be back on the 1st of July to pick you up and drop you off at the Dursleys. Is that okay with you?” Harry nodded in reply.

It wasn’t okay with him. He’d rather not go to the Dursleys at all. But it’s not like he had any other choice.

—..—

As the day of his pickup came, Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of dread at the thought of returning to his aunt and uncle's house. Time had flown by too quickly, and he wasn't ready to say goodbye to his friends just yet. The looming prospect of leaving behind the familiarity and warmth of Hogwarts and his friends only added to his growing sense of unease.

“Hullo, Harry, how’re you feeling?” Remus questioned as he put an arm around Harry. Padfoot licked Harry’s hand in affection and pressed his body against Harry.

“I’m not sure,” Harry answered honestly.

“How’d you mean?” He asked, trying to understand the boy underneath his arms

“I dunno. I—I never really... learned... how to know what I’m feeling. I just feel things.”

Remus eyed him for a minute with an unreadable expression then hm’d, then looked down at Padfoot, who was looking back at him—and if he was in his human form, he’d probably be having the same expression.

“Is that—is that weird?” Harry asked hesitantly.

“No, Harry, you’re okay.” Remus smiled down at the small boy in front of him and squeezed him tightly.

Harry nodded while looking down at his feet—which were moving in the pattern of the floor tiles. Remus then cleared his throat.

“So, Harry, how have things been at Hogwarts this last few days?”

“Horrible. The Prophet keeps slandering me, calling—calling me a liar. People at school are always looking at me funny. Everything is always too loud. I—I can’t stop thinking about t-that night, and—and I have—nightmares all the time,” Harry ranted. That’s probably the most words he’s said in a row all week. Remus tightened his hold on Harry as they walked, not knowing what to say.

“How’ve things been with you and Si—Padfoot?” Harry then asked, trying to get the focus off of him. Remus sighed.

“Well, not much—I mean, everyone’s freaking out right now. Dumbledore hasn’t told us what to do as of yet, so we’re just waiting.” Harry nodded in reply, not knowing what to say and not knowing who ‘everyone’ is, but not questioning otherwise. 

Then they reached a room and walked inside it. “So Harry, do you know what apparition is?” Sirius said after transforming into himself.

Harry shook his head, so Remus quickly explained what it was, then demonstrated by going from one side of the room to the other. “Am I going to do that?” Harry asked.

“No, you’re too young. We’re doing side-along apparition. It's when you hold onto me, and I'm the one who apparates us. All you have to do is hold onto me tightly and close your eyes.”

Harry nodded in reply, then clutched onto Sirius tightly and shut his eyes. The sensation of apparition was entirely new and uncormfortable. It left Harry feeling strangely disoriented, but he trusted Sirius implicitly.

As Harry, Sirius, and Remus completed their apparition, the familiar surroundings of Privet Drive materialized around them. The quiet suburban street stretched before them, lined with neat, houses and tidy gardens under the glazing sunlight. Harry glanced around, his stomach still a bit unsettled from the abrupt journey. Sirius looked around warily, ever watchful for any signs of trouble in this Muggle neighborhood. When he was sure they were okay, he said,

“Alright, Harry?” Sirius chuckled, grabbing onto Harry’s shoulders to steady him. Harry nodded and gave him a small self-depricating smile.

Remus stood there, his eyes fixed on Harry, and then he glanced over at the house. "So, we're parting ways here," he said, his voice heavy with emotion. He turned back to Harry, concern etched on his face. "You're going to be okay?" he asked, and Harry nodded, trying to muster up a smile. Remus stepped forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Harry and squeezing him in a warm embrace. As he let go, he stepped back, allowing Sirius to step in and hug Harry as well.

“I love you, be safe,” Harry said. The three of them stood there for a moment before starting to walk up the driveway.

As they approached the front of the house, Harry's heart began to race. He could hear the sound of his breathing and feel the sweat on his palms. God, he really didn't want to be here. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door. A few moments passed, and then the door creaked open. Aunt Petunia appeared in the doorway, looking around nervously before grabbing Harry by the arm and pulling him inside. She closed the door quickly behind them, as if afraid that someone might catch them.

—..—

Chapter Text

Monday - July 24th, 1995

—..—

Harry has been back at number 4 Privet Drive for a few weeks now. It’s been absolute hell. Harry barely got a wink of sleep. Dudley has made it his life’s mission to torment Harry every day, Vernon has been even more ruthless than ever before, having been told about what happened at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, and Aunt Petunia has been increasing Harry’s workload. Harry hasn’t heard anything from his friends or Sirius for the past week, so he’s worried sick about them. He’s been resorting back to his old unconscious self-harming habits—biting the insides of his mouth, pulling his hair, scratching. He’s been constantly having the same nightmare of the same ominous door, and he hasn’t eaten a full meal for the longest time.

It was midnight, precisely 4:38 am, and most people were sleeping by now. Not Harry, though. He couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the ritual happening, saw Cedric’s dead body hit the floor. He felt the touch of Voldemort on his scar. He felt cold and disassociated.

Harry didn’t know what to do to stop the nightmares. Every time he tried to get an ounce of sleep, he’d wake up from a nightmare sweaty and feeling like utter shit. His aunt had already come into his room twice that night. The first time was because he was making too much noise, murmuring in his sleep. The second time she came running in because he woke up screaming, not because she was concerned though, no. She told him to be quiet, or else he would wake Dudley and Vernon up with all his—per her words—squealing.

After she left his room, Harry suddenly got up from his bed. Feeling overwhelmed with the bed sheets, the clothes on his body, the overgrown hair sticking to his neck from the sweat, the sounds that came from the outside, everything around him. He wanted nothing more than to get out of that house.

Harry opened the door quietly so that his aunt wouldn’t hear him and stepped out into the hallway to the bathroom. While in the bathroom, he stripped off his clothes and walked into the shower. Turning on the water and sitting down on the bathtub floor, Harry started bawling his eyes out. He honestly didn’t know why. Maybe it was the fact that he was exhausted from everything and crying was the only thing his body was able to do now, or maybe it was because he hadn’t heard from his friends in so long and he couldn’t help but think the worst thing possible.

Maybe Voldemort got to them. What if he did? Hermione… her parents… what if— and Ron! What if something happened to him or his family?! I couldn’t bear it. I’d die if that happened, Harry thought rapidly.

He was hyperventilating, he felt cold, maybe he should get out of the shower. He could choke on the water that was running down his face. Harry was weak though, his bones felt heavy.

Harry still sat in the bathtub, the cool water cascading over him as his sobs echoed softly off the tiled walls. He felt utterly spent, his body trembling from the overwhelming emotions and the cold water. Suddenly, he heard the bathroom door slam open, causing him to flinch.

“Harry James Potter!” Aunt Petunia’s shrill voice pierced through the sound of the running water. “What on earth are you doing in there, wasting water at this time of night? Do you have any idea how much this will cost?”

Harry looked up at her silhouette, which showed through the curtain, his eyes red and puffy from crying, but he couldn’t muster the energy to respond. He just stared blankly, the water continuing to pour over him.

Petunia’s eyes narrowed, and she stepped closer, her voice lowering to a harsh whisper. “Get out of that tub this instant! You think you can just run up our water bill like this? You’re already a burden on this family, and now you want to make it worse? You ungrateful brat!”

Harry slowly tried to push himself up, his limbs feeling heavy and uncooperative. He slipped slightly, catching himself on the edge of the tub. He turned the water off.

“Did you hear me, boy? Get out!” Petunia snapped, grabbing a towel and harshly throwing it at him. “Dry yourself off and get back to your room. And if I hear another peep out of you tonight, I swear I’ll wake Vernon up. And you do not want that,” she said pointedly.

Harry wrapped the towel around himself, his body still shaking. He avoided Petunia’s gaze as he climbed out of the tub, his mind a whirl of exhaustion and fear, not of Vernon—it’s been years since he felt anything towards that man other than hatred—but the fear of losing his friends still looming over his head.

Petunia watched him with a look of disdain, noticing the bloody wounds on his thighs that he’d been scratching at unconsciously. She opened her mouth to speak, probably to yell at him about it (like she did when Harry did the same thing when he was younger: “Don’t do that, you imbecile. If anyone else sees these, they’ll take you away from us. Then you’ll be homeless. You want to be homeless, boy?!” she yelled at the time), but instead she said, “And clean up this mess,” she added, gesturing to the wet floor. “I won’t have you leaving my bathroom looking like a pigsty!”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Harry muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He picked up his discarded clothes and started wiping the floor with the towel, his movements slow and mechanical.

“You’re a disappointment to your mother,” she added cruelly. Then, Petunia huffed and turned on her heel, leaving the bathroom and closing the door with a sharp click. Harry felt a fresh wave of despair wash over him.

He finished cleaning the floor, then wrapped the towel around himself more securely and crept back to his room.

Once inside, he closed the door softly and leaned against it, his eyes closing as he took a deep breath. His room felt suffocating, but it was the only space he had. He sat down on the edge of his bed, pulling his knees up to his chest and burying his face in them.

Minutes passed, though they felt like hours, and Harry found himself unable to calm down. The drowning silence of the house suffocated him. His mind raced with thoughts of his friends, of Sirius, of the impending doom that was bound to happen. He felt utterly alone.

Suddenly, Harry got up from the bed, put a hoodie on, and grabbed his beat-up shoes. He decided to go for a walk. He couldn’t stand being one more minute in that house.

Harry softly walked downstairs and into the hallway to the front door. He unlocked the door as quietly as possible and stepped outside, making sure to only put the shoes on when outside of the house. Finally, he felt as if he could breathe.

It was now around 5:58 am and the sun was rising, casting a soft, golden hue over Privet Drive. The chill of the early morning air nipped at Harry’s skin, but he welcomed it, grateful for the crisp freshness that cleared his mind. As he walked, the streets were empty and silent, the world still asleep, offering him a rare moment of solitude. Harry took a deep breath, the cool air filling his lungs, and felt a slight sense of calm.

Well…maybe not calm, per se, more like numbness. The feel of not feeling.

Harry walked and walked until he reached the nearby park and let out a sigh. The familiar sight of the swings and slides brought back memories of when he was younger, playing by himself on the swing set before Dudley pushed him off to have his turn on the swing. He walked over to the swings and sat down on one, the chains creaking softly in the stillness.

Gently, he swung back and forth, feeling the air hit his face as he looked up into the sky, wondering where in the hell his best friends were. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the gentle movement and the cool morning air keep him from crying his eyes out again.

—..—

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Summer - part 2 

Wednesday - August 2nd, 1995.

Harry's day was exactly like any other, cooped up in his room for hours on end. As he went about his day, a deep weariness settled in while he wondered about the possibility of escaping this hellhole. 

Despite his yearning to break free, a consistent feeling of weakness held him back. It wasn’t just physical weakness that kept him from actually doing something about it—though that certainly played a big part— it was the crushing mental exhaustion weighing him down. Everything he felt was amplified, turned up to an unbearable intensity. 

His emotions were raw, constantly on the surface. He found himself crying a lot easier than ever before, his temper flaring at the smallest frustrations, boredom way higher than usual—as he rarely left his room nowadays— and his longing for his friends— his family — was at an all time high. There was anger simmering inside him all the time, and the relentless pressure that made his head ache as if his thoughts were too much to contain.

This particular day, Harry was feeling an intense amount of boredom. He felt just… meh. Aunt Petunia hadn’t bothered him to do anything all day, Dudley was barely home anymore, and Vernon was at his job for most of the day. So, that left Harry with nothing to do. He didn’t know what to do with himself, as he never had a day in his life where he was free all day. Always doing chores, or fighting for his life. Never a day off.

As nighttime approached, Harry noticed his cousin still hadn’t gotten home. Earlier, Dudley had set out with his gang, to harass the younger children in the neighborhood once again . He mulled over Dudley's overdue return, wondering what delayed him. Usually his cousin would get back to the house around nightfall, wait until his parents fell asleep, then sneak out again. Probably to do drugs or whatever the fuck he does now ,  Harry thought with disdain. 

But this time was different. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and Dudley still hadn’t returned. The absence of his cousin gnawed at Harry, sparking an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t care less about what Dudley was doing, however he couldn’t help but worry about the possible dangers around —what with Voldemort’s return and all. It wasn’t like Dudley to stay out this late, not without coming home first to put on his act for Aunt Petunia and Vernon. Something was… off .

Harry glanced toward the window, watching the deep shadows, of which stretched across the street, his mind racing with dozens of grim possibilities. A part of him wanted to dismiss it—after all, what did he care if Dudley was out causing trouble? But the longer Dudley stayed gone, the more unsettled Harry became. He had a bad feeling about tonight. Something was wrong.

It had been a few hours now—around midnight—and Dudley was still nowhere to be seen. Harry had been hearing hushed voices from his relatives—mostly Aunt Petunia—sounding worried, voicing out concerns every five minutes. When suddenly, he heard the front door opening followed by a loud screeching sound coming from the downstairs entrance hallway. 

As soon as he heard it, he grabbed his wand out of instinct —though he knew it would be pointless to use it, since he wasn’t allowed to use magic at the moment— and jumped up from his bed, his heart pounding. Slowly, he approached the entrance to his bedroom, pressing his back against the wall that would be covered by the door if it was opened, and waited. After what seemed to be an eternity, he heard two sets of steps coming up the stairs and more noise, crying—to be precise.

Wait—crying? Harry thought with confusion. He then heard muffled voices,

“...Wait Pet—calm down!...” Vernon said,

“...It- it’ll be alright…”

“...We have to go to the hospital now…” Hospital?!

“Dud... Dudley will be—he... he’ll be alright!” Vernon’s voice cracked . Harry’s eyes widened, Dudley was hurt!? 

Then he heard Aunt Petunia scream, a raw, heart-wrenching sound that made Harry’s blood run cold. “Shut up, Vernon! Didn’t you hear!? He’s got a brain bleed! He’s g-gone... my baby...” She started sobbing uncontrollably. Harry’s hand flew up, covering his mouth, mind reeling. 

Not knowing what to feel, Harry stood frozen. On one hand, Dudley was an unbearable bully who had made his life a living hell, but on the other... he was still his cousin, flesh and blood. Another family member gone, another piece of his already fractured world falling apart once more. His mind raced, still not knowing what to think , what to feel. Harry's knees buckled, and he slid down the wall, clutching his wand tightly as he sat silently, staring blankly at nowhere in particular. 

“We still have to go to the hospital, Pet… see him o- one last time…” Vernon’s voice cracked at the end again. Aunt Petunia muttered a quiet ‘ yes’ as a reply, then they both went inside their room to get dressed. After a few minutes they left the house, leaving Harry stunned in his spot. He went to the window, seeing the car pulling out of the driveway and out of the neighborhood. 

A few minutes later, he saw three unknown hooded figures entering the house. His heart raced as he stood in front of his door with his wand drawn, waiting for them to come. Surely, they were coming for him; who else would they be here for? Harry listened intently, recognizing one unfamiliar set of footsteps. However, the other two were all too familiar.

Click

Click

Click

The sounds of each lock being undone echoed through the hallway. Harry felt a surge of adrenaline pumping through his veins, giving him the strength he needed despite his exhaustion. If he could at least summon a Patronus, maybe he could save himself—though the likelihood seemed slim.

The door creaked open, and the three figures stepped inside, pulling back their hoods. Harry was on the verge of firing a stunning spell or throwing something— anything —to defend himself.

"Wotcher, Harry!" said the smallest figure cheerfully, with the warmest smile ever. Harry's eyes widened in recognition as he looked at the other two figures—Remus Lupin and Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody. Confused, Harry faltered for a moment but kept his wand drawn, his hand shaking.

"R-Remus! What creature was there the first time we—talked?!" he demanded frantically, needing to be sure this was the real Remus Lupin.

"A Grindylow!" Remus responded quickly, his voice steady and calm. At his response, Harry felt a wave of relief wash over him. His knees weakened, and he collapsed to the floor, his brief amount of strength finally giving out.

Remus rushed forward, enveloping Harry in a comforting embrace. "It's okay, I'm here," he said softly, his hand gently caressing Harry's hair in a soothing gesture. The warmth of Remus's touch and the familiar, reassuring presence made Harry feel safe for the first time in weeks. He clung to Remus, letting the tears he had been holding back flow freely, his body shaking with the release of pent-up fear. As soon as he gathered his thoughts, he got angry.

“Where the fuck were you?! I’ve been trying to contact you guys for so fucking long!” Harry screamed, pounding his fists on Remus’s chest angrily as tears streamed down his face. His voice cracked with a mixture of rage and despair.

“I know, Harry. I know, I’m so sorry,” Remus whispered with a guilty tone, his arms tightening around Harry in a desperate attempt to comfort him. Harry's anger began to subside, giving way to the warmth and reassurance Remus provided.

“I thought—” you weren’t coming to get me.

“I thought y-you were dead,” Harry cried out instead, his voice breaking as fresh tears flowed. It was easier to show his fear of his loved ones dying, than his fear of abandonment. 

Remus pursed his lips and stayed silent, his own heart aching at Harry's words. He gently brought them both to their feet and gave Harry one last, firm hug before turning to face the other two adults who had witnessed Harry’s emotional outburst.

“Alright, let’s go, kid,” Real-Alastor Moody grunted, his magical eye whirling as he looked around the room.

“Go where?” Sudden anger enveloping Harry again. They completely ignore him for the last two months and just want him to merrily do as they please? Moody grunted again, this time in annoyance.

“You’ll know when you get there,” He said sharply. Harry still wasn’t convinced though, he couldn’t understand the need to keep him in the dark about this. As he opened his mouth to speak again, however Remus cut him off.

“Harry, we literally can’t tell you,” He paused briefly, as though he was thinking of what to say, “But I promise it is safe there…. Sirius is waiting for us,” Harry instantly perked up at the end of his sentence.

“Okay, but my stuff, and how will we get there, and—” He then abruptly remembered what happened, “My cousin... he got a brain bleed… that’s not really what it was, was it?” Harry asked hesitantly, his voice quiet, as if afraid just speaking it would make it true. He dreaded the answer but clung to the faint possibility that it might be something less horrifying. Like he had just hit his head or something. 

“Right, yeah…” the young woman, who had been mostly silent until now, replied with a somber expression. “I’m afraid your cousin was Kissed by a dementor. My condolences,” Harry’s eyes widened immensely.

“A dementor?! What was it doing out here?! In Surrey? If I knew about it, I could have saved him! This is all my fault—if I had—” Harry’s breath came in short, rapid gasps as he began to hyperventilate, the weight of the guilt crushing him.

Remus quickly placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, trying to calm him. "Harry, listen to me. This is not your fault, as you’ve said, you did not know. None of us did. The dementor was out here because something is very wrong, and we need to get you to safety. Your cousin’s fate was out of your hands." Harry opened his mouth to argue, however he stopped himself at the wolf’s stern look.

“As for your stuff, don’t worry about it, we’ll take care of it. Where,” he paused for a minute, looking around. “Where’s your stuff by the way?” 

“The cupboard under the stairs.” Remus frowned then looked at the woman and nodded, she nodded back and went out of the room. “Alright Harry, we’re going to a safe place.”

Harry nodded weakly, tears streaming down his face again, as he tried to steady his breathing. He felt a mixture of relief and guilt. How couldn’t he?! Even after Remus’s words, he’d still feel that guilt forever. He wiped his tears with the back of his hand, his resolve hardening as he prepared mentally to leave the house that had never felt like a home. Not knowing if he’d ever come back. 

As the four of them walked outside into the driveway, Harry was told they’d be apparating out of the house and into the new place. Harry nodded and held onto Remus and closed his eyes. 

—..—

Opening them again, the area surrounding them materialized. Harry, still a little nauseated from the trip, noticed two buildings. One marked ‘number 11th’ and the other ‘number 13th’, skipping the 12th. Odd , Harry thought. 

“Can you read, lad?” Real-Moody said. Harry nodded at the odd question, then a paper was thrust into his face. It read:

The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

“Memorize it, then think about it.” Harry frowned, but did it anyway. Suddenly a building in the middle of number 11 and 13 emerged. Harry gasped as he saw the building. He saw people inside the other house and they were acting as if there just wasn’t a building coming out of nowhere.

Remus chuckled softly, then gently took Harry’s hand and led him inside the house. The moment Harry stepped across the threshold, a chill ran down his spine. The air inside was thick and musty, carrying the scent of decay and neglect and possibly—no, most definitely dark magic. The black walls were coated in a layer of dust and grime, making the already oppressive space feel even more suffocating. The wallpaper, peeling in long, ragged strips, revealing the cracked and crumbling plaster beneath.

The floors creaked ominously underfoot, each step a reminder of the house’s advanced state of disrepair. The wood was dark and rotting, with splinters jutting out like jagged teeth. Every surface seemed to absorb the faint light, creating deep shadows that played tricks on Harry’s eyes.

The staircase loomed ahead, its bannister covered in cobwebs and years of filth. The steps were a faded shade of black, almost blending into the dimness of the corridor. As Harry’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, he noticed that the entire house seemed to be drenched in dark, foreboding colors: purples so deep they were nearly black, grays and dusty silver accents on the railing of the stairs. Everywhere he looked, there were signs of neglect and decay. 

“This is… different,” Harry muttered, his voice barely above a whisper as he took in the eerie surroundings.

Remus squeezed his hand reassuringly. “I know it’s not much, but it’s safe. For now, that’s what matters most.” He whispered. Harry couldn’t help but notice the implication that the house could one day be unsafe, he chose to ignore it.

He nodded, trying to steady his nerves as they continued deeper into the house. The sense of dread didn’t diminish, but knowing that Remus was with him gave him a small amount of comfort, also knowing Sirius was somewhere here made his chest pound extremely fast.

They walked through a dimly lit hallway, past rooms covered in darkness and neglect, until they finally reached what seemed to be the cleanest room in the house. The kitchen, though still shabby and worn, was at least well-lit and somewhat orderly. The faint, familiar aroma of freshly baked cookies drifted through the air, contrasting sharply with the rest of the house.

Harry's eyes scanned the room and fell upon a few unknown people and a lot of familiar faces. Mrs. Weasley, talking in a hushed tone to Ginny who was beside her cutting carrots and complaining about it, the twins in their own world, probably working on a prank, Ron, with his back to the kitchen entrance, sat at the long table eating, and Hermione was, unsurprisingly , reading. But most importantly, he saw Sirius, who looked like he was a second away from imploding from impatience.

Harry gasped, his heart leaping with overwhelming joy. He bolted across the room and threw himself into Sirius’s arms, hugging him desperately with all his strength. Sirius staggered slightly but held him tightly, his own eyes slightly teary.

The oppressive atmosphere of the house melted away in that embrace in an instance. It didn’t matter that the house felt like it came from a horror movie; as long as Sirius was there, Harry felt okay. Nothing else mattered anymore.

“I missed you so much. What happened!? Why didn’t you answer my letters anymore?!” Sirius grimaced, as if knowing what was about to come.

“Dumbledore— he forbade us to. I tried—I did. But he told us to not tell you anything because there could be people intercepting our letters, and—” Sirius suddenly stopped talking, looked around, stood up and walked out of the room, gesturing for Harry to follow him. When they both walked out, Remus followed and then three of them were in a room that had a tapestry of a family tree in the wall. Sirius gestured for them to sit at the floor, “—and yeah, maybe it could’ve happened—the letters really could be intercepted but—I thought that was a bullshit reason, so I tried again but he found out and said that anything we told you would only put you and myself in danger. I’m sorry pup, I should’ve tried harder, I should’ve made Kreacher do something to check on you— I mean, Merlin only knew what mental state you’d be in, I…” Sirius paused, stroking Harry's hair, moving his fringe away from his forehead, exposing his scar, just because he could .  Harry stayed silent. Though he didn’t understand the last part of what his godfather said. 

He was fine! 

Harry was handling everything as best as he could, there was no denying that. So when Sirius said that, he just felt confused. Nothing was wrong with him!

After a minute, he hugged Sirius tightly and murmured, “it’s okay— I mean I wish you had been able to send me something… but I’m here now, I’m fine …even if it took my cousin—” Harry suddenly choked up on his own words. Sirius grimaced and hugged Harry tighter. 

Harry breathed in and out a few times to collect himself. Sirius was about to start speaking but then Harry interrupted him. “It’s fine, I'm okay. I didn't—like him anyways… it just sucks because he was family y'know…? I mean—honestly, I don't really consider him family, but…still. And if I’d been there I could’ve saved him and aunt Petunia from the amount of stress she’s definitely getting right now. They’re probably heading home right now and when—when she sees I’m not there she’ll know it. She’ll know it was my fault . The only blood family we have is each other now and that also sucks a lot, I mean she just lost her son that’s— she hates me, i can imagine how much she hates the fact that—I can’t help feeling like it’s my fault— and I know what you're going to say but— it’s a fact that if it had been me and dudley there, I could have saved him.” Harry rambled. Sirius raised his eyebrows, opening and closing his mouth, as if figuring out what to say. 

“Harry, that may have been true, but then you would’ve been expelled for underaged magic and—” He started saying however he was interrupted.

“Is me being expelled really less preferable than my cousin’s death?! He was defenseless, a muggle . And Dumbledore would’ve helped me if I had done underaged magic! He wouldn’t let me be expelled! Dudley didn’t deserve to die like that! He was only 15 years old! And what was a dementor even doing in Surrey, in Little Whinging of all places?! How did it get there in the first place?! I knew something was wrong. Even if Dudley was a wannabe gangster, he still always got back to the house at the same time, every time. But today he hadn’t, today he was late. I knew something had happened.” Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes, feeling a migraine coming on.

 “I’m… I don’t even know what to say, or what to feel, and I’m so confused, and I guess angry— I don’t know — and you insinuating that his life mattered less than mine, really pissed me off, so please don’t talk to me for the remainder of the day because, otherwise I’ll say something I will regret.” Harry finished his rant and exhaled exhaustedly. He got up to leave, but then Sirius grabbed his arm, insisting he sat down.

Sirius opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked down at the boy— who was too small for his age — and sighed sadly. “I’m sorry, pup, I didn’t mean to insinuate that, that was insensitive of me. I’m just relieved it wasn’t you. I know it’s devastating to lose a family member, even if you hated them with every fiber of your body. I'll be more careful about what I say in the future, I promise.” Sirius signed again and pulled Harry into another hug, murmuring an ‘I love you’ and walking away into the kitchen. Remus— looking at the scene that unfolded in front of him— sighed, and followed Sirius. Harry quickly felt the guilt consume him and looked down at the floor while putting his hands up to hide his face.

Sirius and Remus must’ve told everyone that Harry was here because, after a while, Ron and Hermione were beside him, watching him carefully. Harry still hadn’t realized they were beside him, until he sighed and looked up to see both of his best friends looking at him silently. 

Harry slightly opened his mouth before he felt tears pooling in his eyes. Quickly, he was engulfed with bone-breaking hugs from both of them. They were both quickly talking over each other, stammering ‘we’re sorry!’ and ‘we missed you’. After a good 5 minutes of that and another 5 minutes of silent group hugging, they released each other. 

“I missed you guys too.” Harry said, feeling overwhelmed with the high amount of emotions he had felt all day (and sleep deprivation). That was all he could muster up for the moment. He was too tired to argue with them about basically abandoning him.

“We know Harry… so… how’ve you been? How are you?” Hermione asked, feeling afraid of the answer.

“Horrible.” He replied honestly. At this point Harry was much too exhausted to say anything else. His brain felt like it was melting. He didn’t know how to deal with all of the stimulus coming from everywhere. The smell of rotting wood mixing with the smell of food from the kitchen, the ringing sounds of voices and screaming coming from the hallway, the clammy feel of his hair on the back of his neck, the itching of his skin— everything felt like too much.

Harry pulled his legs up to his chest and lowered his head and closed his eyes while covering his ears with his hands. “I feel like shit.” He whispered, not sure if his friends heard him. The both of them shared a concerned look, unsure of what to do at the moment. 

“Um…Harry, can you get up? I’m— we’re going to get you to the bedroom so you can rest okay?” Hermione said as softly as she could. Harry nodded, pushing himself up to his feet. Then he followed them up the creaking stairs and into the bedroom. A sudden thought came to his head.

“What time is it?” he asked. Both of them turned their bodies to face him.

“About two in the morning, why?” Hermione replied confusedly. Ron furrowed his eyebrows together with her.

“Why was almost everyone awake then? You guys shouldn’t worry about me— I could've  gotten here by myself eventually,” Hermione scoffed at his ridiculousness and didn’t spare him an answer. Ron nervously watching his best friend's conversation, jumped to switch topics.

“I’m staying here in this room too, but Sirius said that if you wanted to move to his old bedroom— so that you’d have privacy— you could.” Ron then said assuringly, but Harry shook his head. The last thing he wanted was to be alone in the unfamiliar and uncomfortable house. Ron smiled softly, understanding his friend. 

Harry wearily sank onto the edge of the bed and let out a deep sigh, feeling the weight of exhaustion in his bones. He peeled off the warm, hand-knit Weasley sweater that had been hugging him closely and eased himself onto the bed. Despite the discomfort of knowing his friends were watching him, he brushed it aside and focused on trying to rest. As soon as his head met the softness of the pillow, the exhaustion took over, and he drifted into a deep, immediate slumber.

**

Hermione’s never seen her best friend so vulnerable before, and it scared her. Her and Ron had been feeling incredibly guilty about not being there for Harry for so long. Understandably so, seeing as how Harry was acting like, at the moment. She just felt so horrible for her friend, she wished she could make it go away but it wasn’t that easy. She didn’t know what to do to help her friend, she was so, so scared. They left the room and stayed out on the hallway.

“Mione, what're we going to do!?” Ron whispered frantically, seemingly feeling the same panic as she was. 

“I… I don’t know… we have to talk to someone about this, he’s so… did you see how slim he was? And the bags under his eyes?! And his spirit is just—” she paused, choking on her sentence. She couldn’t bring herself to say it.

“—dead?” Ron finished for her with a frown. She nodded sadly. “I’m really worried. He’s much worse than usual after he comes back from summer with his relatives… and… did you see it too…?” Ron then asked, referring to the scratch marks Harry had on his arms. He saw them while Harry pulled the swear off of him. She nodded in reply, tears pooling in her eyes. Ron pulled her into a comforting hug, feeling the tears threatening to come, but he refused, he had to be there for Hermione at the moment. 

“I don’t… I don’t think he does it on purpose. At school, I’ve seen him scratch himself all the time when he was anxious or upset, especially on his thighs… but think it’s almost like a subconscious thing, he doesn’t notice it until it starts to bleed but then he’ll start picking on his skin.” Hermione said tearfully.

“…we should go to the kitchen, talk to the others— and Sirius.” Ron said after a silent minute. Hermione nodded and released herself from the hug, walking past him to the kitchen. 

As they reached the kitchen inside the kitchen, everyone stood up from their seats, staring at Ron and Hermione expectedly. After a few minutes of awkward silence, they began to get impatient.

“Well?! How is he?” Ginny blurted out. Hermione looked at the few Order members— one of which was Mundungus Fletcher— and glared at them until they got the memo to leave. After they left, Hermione walked to a chair and sat down.

“He’s not well…” she said grimly. “He… he’s way too skinny and as soon as his head hit the bed he knocked out. And I think he’s—” Hermione paused, not knowing if she could say the next part, for fear of breaking Harry’s trust, but after a split second decision, she decided it was for the best. “He’s been kind of hurting himself… I don’t know if that’s what you can really call it, but I— me and Ron saw the marks on his arms... I’m really worried, I don’t know how we can help, and everything feels like it’ll only go downhill from here.” Hermione choked on that last part, feeling her emotions catch up to her. Ron put his hand on her shoulder to soothe her, then opened his mouth. 

“Harry’s always gotten back to school feeling a bit better because he usually spent some time with us, before the term started, but… I dunno if it’s gonna be that way this time. It’s just… especially after his cousin now…” Sirius winced at the mention of Dudley. Both Hermione and Ron looked at him in confusion. 

“I mucked it up with him before I called you two. I was trying to comfort him but ended up saying the wrong thing. He got mad and said he didn’t want to speak to me for the rest of the day…” Sirius lamented, looking down and fidgeting with his too-long fingernails. The teens nodded in understanding— which wasn’t much if they were being honest, they didn’t even know what was said!— “Anyway…we should let him rest, and have food ready for him whenever he wakes up.” Sirius finished, wanting to change the topic.

The others nodded and went back to their respective tasks. Molly went to make some tea, deep into thought. She was feeling incredibly anxious. The boy she’d grown to adore and to accept as family was going through so much, she didn’t know how to help. She felt useless.

—..—

Thursday - August, 1995. 

Harry woke up with a start, dreaming of that same door again. He felt cold sweat dripping down his body. Everything feeling like it was too much once again, he wanted nothing more than to leave his body, to rip out his skin, to do something! Just so he could feel normal. But he knew that wasn’t something he could do, so instead, he got up from the bed. 

He looked to his left, seeing Ron sleeping on the floor while Hermione slept on his bed. He was confused, Mrs. Weasley would never allow all three of them to sleep in the same room. She must’ve not known. Hermione must’ve sneaked inside. After some thinking he went over to her and tapped her awake. She got up after a good two seconds and immediately sat up when she saw Harry. 

“Harry! How are you?” she whispered after seeing Ron was still sleeping— and snoring— Harry shrugged in response. Not feeling up to speaking at the moment. Hermione sighed, feeling for her best friend. 

Harry looked down at Ron, who was still snoring, then looked at Hermione with his eyebrows raised, as if to say ‘why’re you here?’ Hermione flushed for some reason, and cleared her throat. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered abashedly. Harry nodded in response, then he waved her to come with him downstairs. 

As they descended the old, creaky stairs, trying their hardest to not make noise. It must’ve been earlier than expected because when they finally reached the kitchen there was no one there, not even Mrs. Weasley. Harry set about brewing some tea while Hermione rummaged through the cupboards for biscuits to snack on, knowing that Harry had not eaten yet. The silence persisted as they enjoyed their tea and snack on the floor next to each other. When they were done eating, Harry rested his head on top of Hermione’s shoulder and sighed. 

Hermione felt tears rolling down her shoulder, realizing they weren’t hers— though she was also tearing up a little, simply because of how empathetic she was. She hooked an arm around Harry and pulled him closer, now resting her head on his head. With her free hand, she interlaced her fingers with Harry’s. 

Harry let out another sigh and closed his eyes, finding comfort in Hermione's familiar scent. She ran her fingers through his hair, offering silent support and understanding. Still, no words said. After a few moments they heard a door open, then a few voices. He felt Hermione getting her head up to see who it was, then she nudged him up. Harry immediately obliged and opened his eyes to see Sirius walking in with a scowl on his face and a figure standing behind him. 

Sirius came to an abrupt halt when he spotted Harry standing before him. "Why are you both here so early in the morning? It's barely 5:04," Sirius inquired in hushed tones, his gaze fixed on Harry. However, Harry avoided meeting Sirius's eyes, causing a tinge of disappointment to flicker across Sirius's face.

“We couldn’t sleep,” Hermione said, while looking at the scene in front of her. The figure behind Sirius huffed and looked to the side. 

“Professor Snape! What’re you doing here?!” Hermione said with widened eyes. Harry quickly looked up to see the professor. Who has a scowl on his face, similar to the one Sirius had earlier. 

“Order meeting,” he scowled, not exactly happy about this no doubt, then his eyes traveled to Harry, who was looking at him intently. “The meeting is all about you, Potter. I’m sure you love that,” Snape spat out his name like it was a slur, with a glare at the boy. Harry flinched at the professor’s tone and looked the other way. Sirius puffed up his chest, ready to yell at the professor, but Harry glanced his way and that made Sirius falter.

**

Severus’s eyebrows shot up for a second, then immediately returned to his usual indifferent expression. Potter was never one to back down to Severus’s ire. Usually, he would give the professor a defiant look, roll his eyes, or make a snide comment. But this time, there was nothing. The silence from the boy was unnerving. Severus's frown deepened, his eyes narrowing as he observed Potter more closely.

He began to notice things he hadn’t before. Potter had a sullen look about him, his eye bags were deeper than ever, and he kept scratching absentmindedly at the same spot on his arm. His eyes were puffy, as if he’d been crying all night, and his lips were chapped and cracked. Severus had never seen Potter look so utterly drained, so fragile. It was unsettling. This boy, who was supposed to be the vanquisher of the Dark Lord, looked as though a mere gust of wind could shatter him into dust.

A flicker of unease stirred in Severus’s chest. How could he possibly rely on, or even trust, Potter—a mere fifteen-year-old boy in such a state—to stand against the Dark Lord? The thought made him question why they were all relying on this child, this fragile child .

**

Hermione stood frozen, gaping at the spot where the professor had just been, her eyes wide with shock. She had never seen Snape look like that—almost troubled, if such a word could ever be applied to him. His face had been different, less biting and more... curious. It was unsettling.

Harry, on the other hand, remained in his seat, staring blankly ahead. His expression was vacant, his thoughts seemingly elsewhere, far removed from the room they were in. The usual spark in his eyes was absent, replaced by a dull, lifeless gaze that made Hermione's heart ache. She wanted to say something, anything to break the silence, but the words wouldn't come. 

She took a tentative step closer to him, her voice trembling slightly. "Harry... are you okay?" she asked softly, her concern evident. 

But Harry didn't respond. He didn’t even seem to register that she was there. Hermione reached out, gently placing a hand on his shoulder, hoping to offer some comfort. Harry’s body tensed at the touch, but he didn’t pull away. He just continued to stare into the distance, lost in his thoughts…